


The Fence

by Cali_se



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Ficlet, Friendship/Love, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cali_se/pseuds/Cali_se
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only so much one man can absorb...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fence

**Author's Note:**

> Beware Spoilers!
> 
> Written as balm following His Last Vow; I thought I may as well share it. It's my take on the goodbye scene.

A handshake was all John could manage in the end. That, and some halfhearted attempts at banter and baby name jokes.

He could feel the old, familiar, strangled emotion in his throat again as Sherlock made ready to board. He tried to clear it but the lump there wouldn't budge. Something more - a plea and a promise to keep in touch - came close to being said but sat instead, like so many things these days, on the tip of his tongue, until he could taste it, bittersweet and growing stale. He'd had enough of goodbyes. 

Sherlock seemed to form part of the skyline as he stood there, tall and striking in his overcoat. John felt every cell in his body ache with the need to grab its hem and beg him to stay. Either that or follow in its wake and board the plane too. 

But now there was Mary. He was going to be a father. No going back; that fence had been cleared. Nothing for it now but to move on. And yet...

As the plane took off, John could have sworn part of him went with it. He could feel it, floating up, up, and away, to be forever with Sherlock... 

...who _had_ just said - hadn't he? - that this might be the last time. The last time they would get the chance to talk. John hadn't really absorbed what that meant yet, hadn't processed it. It was all too much, too painful, piled on top of everything else; like someone hitting a bruised bone. 

He couldn't quite believe this was it - he refused to believe it. This whole business was yet another lie, every single bit of it. It had to be. And he'd forgive him for it. In a heartbeat. He'd forgiven so many deceptions, one more wouldn't be a problem.

Even as the plane gained altitude, he watched it incredulously. This was definitely not right. Sherlock was plotting something clever. After all, he'd done it before, he could do it again.

One day - next week, next month, next year - Sherlock Holmes would be back, and John Watson would be waiting.


End file.
